The Red Bandana
by AdrenalineRush16
Summary: There was always a red bandana around his neck. It seemed insignificant to any outsider, but it meant the world to Jack “Cowboy” Kelly. One shot for Jack Week ‘09


**_Jack Week: June 16th-23rd  
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_Disclaimer: Disney, I dare you to sue me._

**A/N: Happy Jack Week everyone and happy birthday to Skaterater! :D R&R_ s'il vous plait_!

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**The Red Bandana  
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Jack Kelly had a lot of possessions, well, for a newsboy anyway. Well-made clothes (with barely any holes in them), a good deck of cards, along with a box of cigarettes. And one could never really forget the prominent black cowboy hat that continually dangled from his neck.

But something among his processions played a much larger role in his life than just giving him a nickname; his red bandana.

At first glance, it didn't look like much. Just a regular bandana dyed red, and something one could easily buy in any store at any time of day. There was nothing really significant about it that anyone could pick out. But it meant the world to Jack "Cowboy" Kelly.

He never took it off, (except to wash it, which was rare indeed) and wore it sleeping, eating, selling, etc. It didn't matter if it was ninety seven degrees or negative ten; the red kerchief never left his neck. That raised plenty of questions and teasing remarks from his friends.

"From a goil Jacky-boy?" They would tease, jostling each other.

"Nah," one of them would argue, warming to the game. "Cowboy don't cling to any goil like dat."

"Usually it's da other way around," another would add. That would always get a laugh.

"Whose da broad Jack?"

Jack would never say but just laugh it off good-naturedly as not to draw attention to himself. But if anyone really looked close, they might've seen some sadness in Jack's brown eyes.

Because that bandana didn't just belong to anyone; it had belonged to Francis Sullivan's father.

It could be a bit of a surprise sometimes to find a newsie who cared deeply about his father the way Jack did. Many newsies had dealt with abusive fathers and/or families. Not Jack, or Francis, as he used to be called back then. His family was perfect.

He would stay home with his mother all day (since they couldn't afford to give him the supplies to go school) and help her with her work, which was laundry. Francis hated doing it, but to hear his father say proudly; "my boy is good to his ma," made Francis get a huge sense of pride in himself. So Francis helped his mother wash and dry thousands of clothing articles each day.

The daytime wasn't so bad though; Francis and his mother would talk for hours and that was when Francis learned how to read and write. But the night was even better.

Jack Sullivan would stride through the door and rumble; "where are the special people in my life?" though he could easily see Mrs. Sullivan and Francis sitting in the kitchen.

Francis would run from the kitchen table into his father's arms and his father would swing the seven year old around, while Francis clung tightly to his neck, where Jack's favorite bandanna sat. Jack would then set his son down and give a kiss to Mrs. Sullivan. After a warm supper, the family would retire to bed, Francis snuggled between his parents. For Francis, it was the ideal life. But that was before Caroline Sullivan got sick.

At first, Francis didn't worry so much. His mama was just coughing a little bit. But when the doctor put her to bed with strict orders not to leave until better, a twinge of doubt crept into Francis' mind. His father however, came home earlier and earlier everyday and Francis didn't have to do other people's laundry anymore. He didn't realize that not doing the laundry and Papa coming home earlier wasn't a good thing; it meant things were getting much, much more serious.

Caroline Sullivan died three days later.

It left the two men behind her devastated. Jack Sullivan had lost his job a day earlier because of his refusal to leave his wife's side. Jack Sullivan must have known that Caroline was dying, but he never let on, clinging to the hope that she might live.

It was hard on all of them. There was no income, and now Jack Sullivan had to care for his now eight year old son, pay the rent of their small apartment, and scrounge up enough food so that they wouldn't starve.

Francis' birthday came and Francis was sure that his father had forgotten. It didn't matter much to Francis though; being now nine, he was much more practical nine years old than he was at seven. But being into surprises as Jack Sullivan was, he presented Francis with his red bandana.

"Red was your mother's favorite color," he said in a choked voice as he tied it around his son's neck. "She gave it to me, and now I'm giving it to you." Francis could only hug his father. He knew that his father rarely removed the kerchief from around his neck; it was too special to him. Francis made a private vow to himself to do the same.

He refused to take it off, not even when he was sent to the Refuge and taken away from his father. Or rather, his father was taken away from him. In the tough times, Jack Sullivan had taken to stealing and alcohol. But unlike many alcoholic fathers, he had never beaten his child. Jack and Francis were all each other had, and Jack Sullivan would never abuse that.

Francis' trust was only shaken for a moment when he found out that his father was a thief. Caroline Sullivan had always taught her son _never_ to steal and Francis was appalled that his father had done so.

But then Jack whispered in his son's ear; "I did it for you, so that you wouldn't starve."

Francis was then able to look his father in the eye, before the bulls took him away, and say; "I believe you. I love you Papa."

Jack Sullivan smiled. "I love you too," he mouthed silently, as he was taken away.

Francis never blamed his father. He considered Jack Sullivan to be the kindest man alive, stooping low enough to stealing so that his son would stay alive. And as he grew older, he knew what drove the poor man to steal, which eventually wound him up like his father; in prison, or a kid's prison, more popularly known as The Refuge.

The kid was smart though and was able to escape. Afterwards he took to the streets of Manhattan, where he was soon picked up by a newsboy who took young Francis to the Newsboys Lodging House. Kloppman, the man in charge, then asked him his name. Francis froze. He thought that if the newsies found out his real name, they'd haul him back to the Refuge. So he thought up a quick lie.

"Uh, Kelly," he said at first, remembering his mother's maiden name.

Then he smiled. "_Jack_ Kelly." He fingered the bandana around his neck. "Yup, I'm Jack Kelly."

"Well, then _Jack Kelly_," Kloppman said smiling. "Sign yer name here."

And so began Francis Sullivan's new life as a newsie, which gained him a new family, one that continually expanded. Though he never saw his father again, he remembered him and his mother, with his name and his bandana.

And so Francis Sullivan disappeared from all knowledge, like his father and his deceased mother, except when the Newsboy's Strike of 1899 began…but that's a different story.

Francis Sullivan became Jack Kelly, and the only thing that linked the two was a dirty red bandana; something insignificant to all except the newsie who wore it.

And he never forgot.

_Fin…

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**A/N: As you can see, I used the NYC accent here (for the first time). Was it okay? **

**Thanks for reading and CTB!**

**-AdrenR16**


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